Numb
by Pinkie Tuscadaro
Summary: Johnny and Ponyboy get caught by the cops on their way to the train station.
1. Chapter 1

I thought Dal could save us. He was the only one I thought could help us and so we went to Buck's. I just hoped he would be there. He had said something earlier about some party there or something, but that didn't mean he was there. But it was my only starting point. Ponyboy was freaking out, and I was, too, really. But I was trying to stay cool. Pony was kind of yelling at me, saying they put you in the electric chair and shit. I knew that. I didn't need him screaming it at me.

That dead kid, the soc, he was lying still in the moonlight. It was like a horror movie. I couldn't describe the feeling I had. I felt so cold. I did this. I took this kid's life away from him. I mean, they were drowning Pony and they weren't going to stop, and they might have killed him. Then they were gonna beat me up, and they beat me up before.

Dal didn't look all that worried, but he got it together fast. Money, a gun, a hide-out, the works. It probably would've worked, too, but somehow the cops got to us. We were on our way to the train yard and then there's the light from a flashlight in my face and I see Pony's eyes big as a deer's and I think, 'oh jesus we're screwed,'

I hate cops, man, I hate 'em. They were screaming at us, "Get down, on your knees, down on the ground, don't look at us! Hands behind your head!" Ponyboy was nearly crying and I always forget he's so young, like only 13. I just did what they said or else they'd shoot me or something. I glance over and see them handcuff Pony and at the same time I feel them handcuff me, I feel the cold steel from the handcuffs. I ain't never been arrested before. Dal and Two-bit have, and maybe Steve. That's it. Poor Ponyboy. I was feeling so bad for him. He was so good at school and everything and trying so hard to stay outta trouble and now look.

We were thrown into the back of a squad car and the lights are going and Pony is crying. I'm not. I feel kind of numb. I killed someone. That was like this unreal piece of information. I couldn't quite get it. I did that? I saw him, too, I still saw him, lying still and doubled up on that cement in front of the fountain. The blood just spreading under him.

We get to the police station and they drag us out of the car and push us toward the door, and we both stumble and almost fall. I knew just what these cops were thinking. We killed this soc, this good kid and we were the delinquents, it was all our fault. They would never believe how the socs terrorized us, how they were on our side of town and looking for us. Of course the cops wouldn't believe that. But I did kill him. I couldn't believe I did that. I never should have. I never should have. I looked up at the police station right before we went in, and it seemed like that whole building was looming in front of us, over us. It was all weighing down on us.

Dally always said if you get arrested don't say nothing to the cops, they'll use it against you. And you don't have to talk to them anyways. That would be fine if it was just me, not that it would help, but what would Pony say? He'd probably spill the whole thing.

I was brought into this interrogation room, still handcuffed. It was starting to hurt, my arms forced into this position behind my back, but I sat there with the bored and cool look on my face that we use for cops and strangers. Inside I was a mess, I kept thinking, shit, I killed someone! But I wouldn't let them see. I kept thinking how that kid, that soc, how he'll never do anything ever again and even though he was gonna hurt us real bad it still wasn't right.

"Alright, kid, what happened?" one of the cops said to me. He was old and kind of fat, and he was smoking a cigarette and man could I go for one. But I wouldn't ask and I wouldn't say nothing. I shrugged.

"There's a dead kid at the park and the witnesses say you killed him, you knifed him to death. Is that true?"

I was in a world of trouble. Witnesses. They knew I done it. So why did I have to say anything? Nothing I said would help. I could feel the despair kind of slipping over me. This was it, everything was over. How did you ever recover from something like this? I'd go to jail for the rest of my life or maybe get the electric chair and there wasn't anything anybody could do about it. Maybe I deserved that. I was a murderer, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

I just didn't say nothing, but I wondered if they were talking to Ponyboy in some other room. I bet they were. He'd heard Dally say keep your mouth shut around cops but I didn't know if he'd remember that or not. He got all upset in these kind of situations. Not like I didn't, too. I was more upset than he was, just not on the outside. I was used to keeping everything in.

The cop just glared at me until he figured out I wasn't gonna say nothing. He shook his head and put his cigarette out into the little tin ashtray that was on the table.

"Alright, kid, c'mon," he said, and he hauled me up to my feet, and I felt all off balance because of the handcuffs, which I really wanted off. But I wouldn't say one word about anything. Finally, though, he brought me to a cell and took off the handcuffs, and I rubbed my wrists and moved my shoulders, trying to get the cramp out. He didn't say nothing, that cop, but I figured me and Pony would be brought to the Juvenile detention center soon enough. I just lay on that uncomfortable cot with the thin mattress and the thinner blanket, but it was more comfortable than sleeping in the lot. I couldn't sleep, though. I couldn't get that kid outta my head, that soc, the way he was lying there. I shuddered and closed my eyes. Maybe I'd sleep if I could somehow just stop thinking.

The next morning they shoved some breakfast at me, it looked like oatmeal or something, but I couldn't eat it. It just sat there. Then a different cop came by and handcuffed me again.

"C'mon," he said, shoving me just a little bit. I saw Pony walking down toward me, handcuffed, his eyes red from crying, all red and puffy. He looked at me so desperate. I kind of nodded at him, thinking of all the trouble I got him into, too. At least those socs didn't drown him, at least he was alive.

"Where're we going?" Pony whispered to me as we followed the cop outside.

"The Juvenile detention place," I whispered back, and then the cop told us not to talk. He opened the door of the cop car and we got in. I'd never been to this place, I know Pony hasn't, either. Dally's been there plenty of times.

It wasn't right around here, this place. It was aways away, and I just stared at the houses and the trees and stuff that we passed by. I felt awful, I hardly had slept last night, I hadn't eaten in a while, and I couldn't stop thinking about what I done. Then I thought about killing myself again. I thought that a lot, you know, just killing myself because things were so damn hopeless. Maybe I could just kill myself, maybe, and not have to worry about this anymore.

We were getting close. I saw the building, it was square cement. It looked like a prison. I took a shuddery breath and glanced over at Ponyboy. He was looking out the window at the building, too, his eyes were all round.

The car stopped and the cop got out. These doors in the back of cop cars don't open from the inside. So the cop opens the door and kind of drags us out. We follow him into the building. Inside it smells funny, like steamed vegetables or something, and like Lysol cleaners. It kind of looks like a school, it has the same kind of shiny hallway floors. I look at the shine off the floor, look at my sneakers that are all scuffed and coming apart. I see Pony walking a little bit in front of me, I see his white sneakers that are as dirty as mine but look worse cause they're white, and I see the edge of his jeans. I won't look up. I don't want to look at anybody.

We follow the cop into some room where he undoes the handcuffs and hooks them around his waist, and he points to these chairs that are against the wall.

"Sit," he says, and we do. We just sit there while he talks to someone, some guy, probably the head of the Juvenile detention center place. He tells him our names and what we did, or what we're charged with, anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

The cop leaves, and neither one of us is sad to see him go. My mouth is dry, I feel all nervous. I start biting my nails. Pony sits there trying not to cry. I know he's thinking about Darry and Soda all worried about him and everything. Too bad ain't no one worried about me.

"Johnny Cade?" The guy says, and I look up and kind of nod. He doesn't smile or nothing but he doesn't look too mean. He looks kind of like he'll be all strict if he has to, and I was thinking of how Curly Shepard and Dally have been here, and how you'd have to get strict with them or they wouldn't do nothing. But lately Dally's figured out how to have good behavior. He kept getting out all early and shit because of that.

"This way," he said, and I followed him into a room, and glanced back at Pony still sitting there. I thought I was going first cause I was the one in more trouble. I killed the kid. Pony didn't really do nothing. He'd be out in no time. I figured that. Probably after the first court hearing the judge would let him go home, but not me. I'd probably never go home again.

This room had two other people, older guys, and I could tell they worked here. They looked sort of bored. Well, not exactly bored but like they'd seen kids come and go and it didn't effect them.

"Alright, Johnny, I'm Mr. Johnson," the guy said, the one who had called my name before, the one the cop talked to. I nodded and looked down. He knew my name already.

"We have to search you," he said, and I stood up and let them frisk me. I didn't have nothing anymore. The cops had the switchblade, it was evidence. I didn't have nothing else, just some coins in my pockets that they took and put in this metal bin.

"Here. Put these on and bring all your clothes out when you're done," he said, handing me a kind of jumpsuit thing and underwear and socks and sneakers. He pointed toward another room which turned out to be a bathroom, but kind of big. There wasn't no window in it or nothing, cause I bet more than one kid would try to jump out of it. I might, too. I wanted to not be here so bad. But I took the clothes and went into the bathroom and changed into them, looking at all my dirty clothes. God, they were filthy. The jeans were all torn and ripped at the knees from when the socs shoved me down. My black T-shirt was all dusty and smudged with dirt and I could see the blood on it if I looked close enough.

I came out all dressed in what they gave me, and it felt weird. I was always dressed the same, jeans and T-shirts and my old ratty converse sneakers, my jean jacket. Now I looked like a prisoner instead of a greaser. I handed him my clothes and sneakers and he gave them to one of the other guys, who put it into the same metal bin as the change from my pockets.

"Okay, good, now come with me," he said, leading me down a short hall to an office. Maybe it was his office. There was paneling on the walls and framed degrees and shit. I looked around, blinking at everything. I was starting to feel dizzy, turned around.

"Who do you live with?" he said, tugging on his tie.

"Huh?"

"Who do you live with?" he repeated, and I looked at the way the sunlight was reflecting off the framed degrees of his.

"Um, my parents," I told him, thinking about how I hardly stayed there if I could help it.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No,"

I was sitting on one side of his desk and he was behind the desk, all dressed up in his casual suit and tie, and I was in this stupid juvenile detention outfit. I rubbed at the material, not liking the way it felt, not liking the smell of the industrial detergent they must use. I wanted to be in my clothes, hunched down in my jean jacket. This was lousy.


	4. Chapter 4

"No brothers or sisters, huh?" he said, and I just kept looking down. Dal had told us about this part of it. It was an interview. Dal said it was so they could find stuff out about you and then use it against you. I just wanted it to end. I wanted this whole thing to end.

"How are your parents?" he said, and I looked up at him, not really knowing what he meant. How were they? I just looked at him, squinted my eyes a little.

"I mean, do you like living with them? Are things okay at home?"

"Yeah," I said, and slid my eyes to the side. Of course things weren't okay at home. My house was awful, the worst of all of us. I swallowed hard, wishing he'd get off this stupid subject.

"Do they ever hit you? Beat you?" he said.

"Yeah," I said, kind of wishing I had lied and said no. No, of course not, they'd never do that.

"How often?" he said, and he kept trying to make eye contact with me but I couldn't look at this guy. What did he care about this, anyway? This was just his job and to him I was a rotten kid, a criminal, I killed someone. The other kids in this place, most of them didn't do nothing like that. They probably stole stuff from stores and stole cars and maybe jumped people and they wrecked public property or they got caught drinking out in public. None of these kids was probably in here for such a serious thing like I did.

"Often enough," I said. And I thought maybe he was thinking, if he was one of those that thought this way, my bad upbringing lead me to do what I done. But I didn't think that was the case. I did it, not because my old man beat me or nothing like that, and not because I live on the poor side of town and not because of anything else but except that I did it. They were drowning Ponyboy and I just didn't know what else to do. I didn't mean to.

"Do you ever drink?" he said, and I glanced at him, happy that we were not gonna talk about my parents anymore.

"Sometimes," I said.

"How about smoking?" he said, and I kind of sighed. Smoking, drinking, getting beat. I didn't want to be talking to this guy much longer.

"Smoking? Yeah, I smoke,"

"How about school? Do you go to school?"

"Yeah,"

"What grade are you in?" He was still trying to get me to look at him. I was staring at these sneakers they gave to me. They were like tennis shoes or something.

"Tenth,"

"How do you do in school?" he said, and I sighed again. I hated this.

"Not that good," I said.

"Why not?" Jesus! I wish this guy would just quit! What does all this matter, anyway?

"Uh, I don't know. It's like I'm not that good at reading cause the words sometimes, the letters, they get jumbled up or something. So it takes me too long to read shi-stuff. Plus I miss a lot of school, I skip sometimes. I don't know. I'm just not good at it. I got held back last year and probably would have this year, too, since I ain't doing much better,"


	5. Chapter 5

"Well," he said, and I glanced up at him, "you'll be going to school here,"

"What?" I said. School? With all the shit I had to deal with now, I didn't think school would be a part of it. I just didn't think they had school here, although I knew, I guess. I mean, Curly and Dal had told us there was school. I guess I forgot. I was thinking this was more like prison, and there ain't no school in prison.

"School. It's a state requirement that you continue to be enrolled in school,"

I sighed. Great. Now I'd feel stupid, struggling with all that reading and the stupid math.

"In fact," he was going on, and I kicked my feet against the floor, "we will administer to you the Slosson Oral Reading Test. This will assist us to place you in the right program,"

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. A test? A reading test? This was awful. This just kept getting worse and worse. Pony would do great. He was really smart. I knew he read books that they read in college. They'd think how did this smart kid get all caught up in all this shit? But with me, I'd flunk this test like I flunked every test, and it would just go with all their thoughts about it. They'd think, no wonder this kid is so violent. He can barely read, his parents beat him, all this stuff. Maybe they were right. What kind of future did I even have before I killed this soc? Not much of one.

"Now we are going to go over your rights, the rules of conduct, and your responsibilities while you're here,"

I licked my lips. I wanted to bite my nails but I didn't. I was tired. I was tired of answering questions and getting all this information. I wanted to go back home, smoke in the lot, play pinball, hang out with Dally. Anything. Anything but being here.

"You have the right to make two phone calls a week. You have the right to call your lawyer and to see your lawyer. Food, and the withholding of food will not be used as a punishment. Physical force and restraining will not be used as a punishment. Staff has the right to restrain you for your safety and the safety of others. Staff has the right to use the force necessary for your safety and the safety of others. This means basically that they can use the force necessary to break up fights or to stop you from hurting yourself or someone else,"

I was looking at the gray rug between my sneakers. I'd heard the horror stories of all of this, mostly from Curly, but Dal talked about it, too. They had told me about being tied to their bed for hours, not eating, not getting to talk to anyone. Maybe they were exaggerating, but I didn't think so. I knew I'd be at the mercy of the staff here. Authority. I didn't do that well with it, even though I ain't never really been in trouble before.

"You can have visitors, two at a time, once a week for half an hour. These visits have to be approved visitors, 21 years of age and older and they can not have been involved in your crime. These approved visitors must call for an appointment to visit,"

Visitors. 21 and older? That ruled out Dally, Two-bit, Steve, Darry, and Soda. They were all younger. And I didn't want my parents to visit. Not really. They wouldn't be all worried and concerned and trying to help me. They'd yell at me about all the trouble I was causing. So I guessed no visitors.

"Now we'll go over the rules of conduct. Once a day you will take a shower, and you are expected to maintain personal hygiene, your clothes need to be clean, shirt tucked in, hair neat, and we have a barber here," I could feel him looking at my hair. It was long and greasy, it was so long it curled behind my ears and fell across my forehead. It was cool, though. Our hair was cool. Mine was so black, jet black and all shiny with the grease. I knew what would happen. They'd wash the grease out and chop it off and I'd look like a pansy. I knew that would happen. Curly's hair was never very long since he was in and out of these places.

"You are expected to make your bed and keep your room neat and clean, this involves sweeping and vacuuming and dusting. You are expected to clean the shower area and the dining area. As far as food goes, there are three meals a day, two of which are hot meals. There is a snack at 8 P.M. As far as behavior goes, you are not allowed to damage any of the property on the premises or in your room, you are not allowed to damage the clothes you are given. You are not allowed to physically harm anyone else, resident or staff. This means no pinching, kicking, hitting, punching, hair pulling. Nothing like that. You are not allowed to swear. You are to be respectful to other residents and to staff. You are not to taunt, ridicule, name call, incite fights or riots, no gang activity is permitted. You can receive mail, but staff has the right to open and inspect all mail you receive. Weapons are not allowed to be sent to you. Money is not allowed to be sent to you. Gang paraphernalia is not allowed to be sent to you. Johnny, are you in a gang?"

I was surprised at hearing my name suddenly. All these rules and shit were making me tired and I was kind of drifting off. But my name snapped me back to this guy and what he was saying.

"A gang?" I said, thinking about Dally and the stuff he's done, thinking of how all of us would defend each other. It was a gang, I knew that. But I wasn't about to tell this guy that. He wouldn't get it. He wouldn't understand that my parents were alcoholics and so violent and fighting all the time and that I needed my friends to survive. I needed them. I didn't have anybody else.

"Uh, no,"

"No? Because the information we got was that you come from an area of Tulsa that is known for gang activity, and that some of your associates are kids who have extensive criminal records. So let me ask you again, are you in a gang?"

He knew. I looked down again and started biting my nails. Shit. This wouldn't look good, and he'd think me and Pony were gang members and crazy and violent. I guess it would seem that way, knifing a kid to death in cold blood like that. So there was no choice now. He thought it anyway.

"Yeah," I said in a whisper.

"Look at me," he said, his voice harder now. I looked up, my breathing getting faster and more shallow. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to leave so so bad.

"There will be no gang related actions here. That is absolute. We do not tolerate it. No violence. Do you hear me? There is a behavior point system we use here and you will lose everything, all privileges, all rights, you will be separated from the general population. Do you understand this?" He was glaring at me. I kept looking at him even though I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut. I thought he'd yell at me again if I didn't keep looking at him. I swallowed hard.

"Yeah,"

"Okay, then. We understand each other,"


	6. Chapter 6

"It's time for the reading test," he said, and I lowered my head. I hated tests. They made my stomach hurt. I used to wonder what it was like to be Pony, to read so easily, to understand everything. I'd take tests and I'd try but it never worked out. I'd get questions wrong, I'd flunk, and the test would come back with all these red marks all over it. Sometimes my old man would find out how bad I did on some test and whip me. How did that help?

So I sat there and kicked my feet against the rug and didn't say nothing. It was a bunch of words on a paper and all he wanted me to do was read them.

"Just read them?" I said, looking at the list of words, and he nodded. So I read that list of words and then he gave me another list of words to read. I read a couple of these lists until one of them didn't even seem to have English words on it. I looked at this list and then looked up at him.

"Just try to read the words," he said, so I did, but they didn't seem like any words I ever heard.

"Okay," he said when I was done, and he didn't tell me if I got them right. I didn't think I did.

"Okay, Johnny," he said, and he didn't sound as upset as he did when he was talking about the gang stuff. He seemed sort of nice again. But I didn't trust him. I didn't trust anybody like that.

"Come with me," he said, standing up, and I stood up, too. I felt kind of relieved that this part of things was over, all these questions and that stupid test. I followed him out of that office and down a couple of hallways. I was wondering where Pony was, if he was talking to some other guy about this same stuff. We got to a room, like a big living room.

"This is the Orientation Unit," he said, and he handed me a book. I took it.

"This is the handbook. I went over most of it with you but I want you to read it, or have someone read it to you if you can't read or understand all of it," I must have flunked that stupid reading test, he knew I couldn't read good. Pony could read some of it to me if he had to. He wouldn't mind.

That guy left, and I looked around the room. There were a few kids there, all dressed in the same thing as me. There were some staff people, too. I glanced around for Ponyboy but didn't see him. I really wanted to see him.

I sat on the couch. It was sturdy looking, it had these rough thick cushions and a wood frame that looked like it wouldn't break even if you threw it out of a building or something. There was a little T.V. on in the corner, some cop show. I just started watching it, feeling so bored and scared and out of my mind. I'd rather be at my house than here. I'd rather be getting whipped with my old man's belt than be here.

One of the staff people came over to me. He was a big guy, looked like he was in his twenties.

"You must be Johnny," he said, half smiling at me.

"Yeah," I said, and he laughed a little.

"Don't worry, kid. It isn't so bad," I didn't say nothing. It wasn't so bad? I was in this place. I killed someone. They could give me the electric chair for that. All this, this place and these rules and going to school, what was the point of that for me? I might just never get out of jail or be executed. Things couldn't be worse.

I was just watching T.V., waiting for Pony to show up. There was a kid on the couch next to me, a blond kid with funny green eyes.

"Hey," he said to me, "who are you?"

"Johnny,"

"Johnny what?"

"Cade,"

"What'd you do?" he said, and I glanced over at him. I didn't want to talk about it with this kid.

"What'd you do?" I said, looking back at the T.V.

"Stole a car," he said, sounding proud, kind of like Curly would sound. He's stolen cars before.

"Yeah, good," I said.

"So what'd you do? I'll find out anyway, you know," I sighed. He was right. It wasn't a secret, or it wouldn't be. It was gonna be big news, if it wasn't already. So fine, I'd tell him.

"Killed a soc,"

"Holy shit! No way!" he said, and the staff guy that had talked to me shot the kid a warning look.

"Jason," he said. Maybe it was the swear.

"Sorry, don't take points off me for that swear, okay?"

"You know the rules," the staff guy said, marking some paper. He probably had some paper for me, too, taking points away.

"How'd you do it?" he said to me, all interested and everything, and he looked at me with this kind of admiration. That was, I don't know. I didn't admire him for stealing a car. But a car was nothing, it was just a thing. This was a person I killed.

"I don't want to talk about it,"


	7. Chapter 7

"C'mon, man, tell me," Jason said, leaning toward me. I shook my head no and closed my eyes. I could still see the whole thing, I could still feel the knife in my hand, I could hear Ponyboy calling for me to help him, the cries getting weaker and then stopping altogether and I thought they'd killed him, like I thought they were gonna kill me that time in the lot. I felt like I lost my mind then, thinking they killed Pony and then they were gonna kill me, or at least beat me within an inch of my life. I wouldn't let it happen, I couldn't let it happen, so I took that knife and buried it in that guy, that soc. I knew he was the one that beat me up before. Then there was all that blood, and the other guys just ran, they ran…

"Johnny?" I opened my eyes and saw Ponyboy standing there, dressed in the same outfit. I was so glad to see him.

"Yeah, hey, man,"

He sat next to me on the couch and stared at the T.V. There wasn't anything worse than this, being bored out of your mind but also being kind of terrified. I glanced over at the staff guy, and he was writing on those papers he had, a half smile on his face. I wondered what that staff guy thought of us, all us juvenile delinquents. Probably not much.

"How was your interview?" Pony asked me, and I shrugged.

"Awful," I said, and he nodded.

"I didn't like that guy, that Mr. Johnson," he said.

"Yeah, me neither,"

"Think Darry and Soda will get to visit you?" I asked him, looking at the little T.V. but I could hardly see it because the sun was shining in on it. All I heard was cars screeching and guys yelling on the T.V.

"Yeah, Darry will figure it out," he said.

So we were quiet for awhile. There wasn't much to say. I saw the handbook in his hands. I thought about all the rules here. I wasn't exactly used to rules. My parents didn't care what I did, usually. They ignored me most of the time, unless my old man was hitting me or something cause he was drunk. But I just came and went when I wanted to, and I skipped school all the time and usually my parents didn't know nothing about it. Now, in this place, I'd have to do what all these people said to do.

More kids were coming in, some of them looked kind of scared, some of them looked bored and tough like Dally. I got up and walked around, wondering if the door was locked. I went and tried it, and I saw the staff guy look at me.

"It's locked, Johnny," he said, laughing. I just looked at him. I wanted to leave. I hated being in this locked place, trapped here. At least at home I wasn't trapped anywhere. I could leave, go where I wanted to. I had thought things were so lousy cause my parents were how they were and we had no money and the socs were always starting trouble and everything and I hated school but I didn't realize how much worse things could get. I wanted to break this door down.

Ponyboy came over to me, looking concerned. He must have seen the look in my eyes, like an animal in a trap.

"C'mon," he said, and kind of lead me away from the door, "it's alright,"

I slumped back down on the couch, feeling restless and bored and out of my mind. I didn't think I'd be able to handle this. I wondered how Dal had handled being locked up. But then, he could deal with a lot more than I could.


	8. Chapter 8

We were in our room in the pajamas they gave us to wear. We had just showered so our hair was wet, no grease. It would get cut on Monday, when the barber got in. Right now my hair still hung in my eyes. I flipped it out. Both of us were holding the handbooks that we were supposed to read. In the next three to five days that we'd be on this orientation unit we were supposed to "commit it to memory," I sighed. I hated this.

Pony was reading it, I'd seen him read enough things. He read fast and he remembered everything he read. God, I wished I was like that. I flipped the book open and started to read it, sounding out the words to myself, skipping over the words I didn't know. I was getting so mad I wanted to throw the book across the room, but I knew that kind of thing would make me lose points. There were staff people in the hall, I could see them. I closed my eyes and saw that soc lying still in the moonlight. I shuddered.

"Johnny?" Ponyboy said, marking his place in the book. I just looked at him, feeling like I wanted to cry. I couldn't read this book. I couldn't stop thinking about that soc, about what I done. How could I live with this?

"Pony, I can't read this book, I can't concentrate on it," That was part of it. I couldn't concentrate. I was so worried, worried about Ponyboy and what would happen to him cause of all this trouble I got him into, worried about Soda and Darry worrying about him, worried about going to jail for the rest of my life, or getting the electric chair. That didn't make trying to read any easier.

"Look, I'll tell you what it says," he said, and he came over to my bed, and I thought those staff people would come in and yell at us, but they didn't. He went over the whole stupid book with me.

"Thanks," I said in a shaky voice, and it was getting late. The staff guy from the break room peaked his head in.

"Lights out, guys," he said, and he flipped the lights off and Pony climbed into his bed, and I thought I'd never be able to get any sleep, not here, not with everything hanging over my head.

In the morning, the light coming in under the shades, some staff person yelling that it was time to get up. I was completely out of it, I had no idea where I was for a second, then it all came rushing back.

"Time to get up!" I groaned, peeked through my eyelids. It was only ten of seven. I couldn't get up this early. Half the time I missed school was cause I slept too late. Sometimes I was too messed up to go, both eyes black and a raging headache from getting my head slammed into the wall. Sometimes I just couldn't drag myself to school. Ponyboy, on the other hand, he never missed school and wouldn't disobey Darry when he said it was time to get up. So it was easier for him. I could hear him getting up, getting dressed. I put the pillow over my face.

"Johnny Cade! Get up!" the staff guy said, someone I had never met. But he knew who I was, of course. So I got up, feeling so tired, feeling so restless and edgy already. I put on the uniform thing and made the bed. Pony always made his bed at home, I knew this, and I'd make the beds if I slept over his house, but never at my house. No one cared there. So it was all done and I sat on the made bed, waiting for whatever we'd have to do now.

It was breakfast, so we went to the dining room and ate it and then we had to clean up the table and do the dishes. Then nothing. We just went to that same break room and watched T.V. This was what you did on the orientation unit. Nothing. Read the handbook. Make phone calls. They took Pony first to make phone calls. I didn't have nobody to call. I'd just call Darry and Soda and hope that Dally was there, cause it was Dally who I wanted to talk to.

Then it was my turn, and I followed the staff guy down the hall to the office with the phone. So I dialed the numbers for their phone. We didn't have a phone, my parents couldn't afford one. We'd never had a phone. We had a T.V. that didn't work.

"Hello, Darry?" I said, cause I knew it was Darry who answered. I wondered if he was mad at me. But I, if I hadn't done it they might have killed Ponyboy.

"Yeah, Johnny?"

"Yeah,"

"How are you? Are you alright?"

He sounded so concerned, not just about Pony but about me, too. I almost started crying.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I said, although it was a lie. I was miserable. I couldn't stop thinking about that kid I killed, how I took away his life. He would never do nothing again, he'd never fall in love, get married, have kids, anything, he'd never do nothing because of me. It was too much to bear, it was too much to take. I felt so guilty I couldn't, I just didn't know what to do.


	9. Chapter 9

I swallowed hard, listening to Darry. I couldn't believe he wasn't so mad at me for getting Pony into all this trouble.

"Uh, Darry, is Dally there?" I said, glancing at the clock. I didn't know how long I'd get to be on the phone, but I figured they'd burst in and tell me to get off at any moment.

"Yeah, he's here. Hold on," he said. I heard the phone clatter down on a table, I heard all the rustling at their end. I just waited. I wished I was there at their house instead of here.

"Johnny?" It was Dally, alright. He sounded half mad and half worried.

"Yeah, Dal," I said, my voice this whisper.

"Are you okay?" he said, sounding more worried than mad. I swallowed hard, that question again. I closed my eyes. I was pretty far from okay. I saw the kid I killed almost every time I closed my eyes, saw the blood spreading under him kind of slow, saw the way his face looked. When I thought of that I didn't even care about being here, it didn't matter. But being here was making me feel so trapped and crazy. I was bored and I was scared and I wanted to leave. I didn't like these clothes and I didn't like these staff people watching me all the time and I didn't like answering questions.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, but I thought Dal knew it was a lie. But what was I supposed to say?

"Johnny…" he kind of hissed my name, and now he sounded more mad than worried.

"Listen, Johnny, the papers are saying it's manslaughter. That's what they're saying they're probably gonna charge you with. So, don't get all worried about the electric chair, you know? You don't have a record or nothing, it was self defense. Okay, Johnny?"

"Yeah," I said in that same choked little whisper. What Dal was saying was kind of making me feel better, a little bit. I felt a little better if I thought of it that way, thought that it was self defense. Those guys came looking for us. I didn't want that to happen, not any of it. I was sorry it did.

"Time's up," another staff person said, tapping his watch. I looked up at him and nodded.

"Listen, Dally, I gotta go,"

"Alright. Take care, kid," he said, and he sounded sort of sad now. I hung up the phone and went back into that room with the T.V. and kids just hanging around, flipping through the hand book.

"You talk to Dally?" Pony said, glancing over at me.

"Yeah,"

Maybe I felt a little better. Maybe I could get off easy, easier than I thought. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life locked up. But I still kind of felt like I deserved to.

It was the same routine as yesterday, we went down to the dining room and ate and cleaned it all up and watched more T.V. and then took a shower and got ready for bed. I looked at my hair, how long it was, and it would look better with grease in it but it was still long. I didn't want them to cut it. I knew it would get cut tomorrow.

"Lights out," they said, and they flipped the lights off and I climbed into bed. I couldn't fall asleep, though. I couldn't stop thinking of everything, worrying about everything. What would happen? There was court to worry about and Ponyboy to worry about. What if they took him away from Darry and sent him to some boys' home? This whole thing wouldn't look good, maybe. The courts might think Darry wasn't a good enough guardian since he got into this kind of a mess.


	10. Chapter 10

6:50 A.M. That was time to get up. I groaned and put the pillow over my face. I hated getting up this early. But I did, I got up and got dressed and touched my hair, knowing it was gonna get chopped today.

After breakfast and cleaning up breakfast we didn't go to the same break room like usual. We went down the corridor to another place, me and Pony and a few others and the staff person, the kind of smiley one from the first day.

"Where are we going?" Ponyboy said, and I looked at his hair, long and free of grease. His hair was still pretty tuff, him and Soda never had to use much grease on it anyway.

"Haircut. Then the doctor," he said.

"Doctor?" Pony said, and I didn't know why but I dreaded seeing a doctor. I'd gone to doctors before in emergency rooms when I had to have a broken arm set or something, and the doctors never cared that my old man was the one who broke my arm in the first place.

I sighed and sat in the chair in the hallway as one by one they went in and came out looking like socs with neat hair, and Pony went before me. He gave me a look, a sad desperate kind of look. I knew how he felt. He came out looking like some different version, it just didn't look like him. Then it was my turn.

The barber was some old guy who didn't approve of how long our hair was, I could tell by the way he looked at it.

"Don't you ever get haircuts?" he said, picking up a piece of my jet black hair. I shook my head.

"Not too much," I said. And he cut it and shaved it around the back and sides and I hated it. I looked so stupid this way. But I guess it didn't matter. What did it matter now?

Then we had to go and see the doctor. I was sitting there on the exam table in one of those paper hospital gown things. I breathed in and out when he told me to, that cold stethoscope against my skin.

I felt better being back in my clothes. We were sitting in another hallway in the cold hard chairs, this time waiting to talk to a psychologist. They must think we were crazy, or at least me. Pony actually didn't do anything. I thought after the first court date they'd let him go home. I knew they would. He didn't do nothing. He didn't kill anybody. I did. I was the crazy one.

The psychologist's office was kinda nice. There were plants all over the place and shiny little knick knack things and the chair was real comfortable, it was plushy and had arm rests and everything. I sat there thinking I could fall asleep in this chair.

"Johnny, how are you?" he said. He was kinda old, not that old, maybe 40's or something.

"Okay,"

"What happened? How did you get here?" he said, and I closed my eyes. I wasn't good at this, talking about all this stuff. And I didn't really want to talk about it. What good would it do?

"My friend was being drowned at this park, and then…I stopped them," There. I couldn't explain it, I didn't want to say it. I killed that kid. Killed him. Now he'd never have nothing, everything was done for him because of me.

"So you acted in self defense?" he said, and he didn't look really judgmental or nothing. I shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess so,"

"How do you feel about it?" he said, and I swung my feet.

"Feel about what?" I said, wanting to bite my nails. I touched my short sideburn, it felt funny, all shaved like that.

"How do you feel about what you did?"

God, this guy. I closed my eyes again, seeing the kid lying so still in the moonlight, and the darkness made the blood look a funny color, dark red, maroon. I could see it spreading so slowly, this puddle of blood, a swimming pool worth. There was a lot of blood in people.

"Lousy, man. I feel awful. That kid, that soc that I killed, he was only 17 or 18 and I killed him, man. I mean, he was drowning Ponyboy, he was gonna beat me up, they had a knife…but I still feel lousy that I had to do that,"

"So you feel you had to do that?" he said, and now I was biting my nails.

"I didn't know what to do. They were gonna kill Ponyboy, they were. They were gonna kill me. They beat me up before, those same guys, and I hadn't done nothing. This time me and Ponyboy were talking to their girlfriends. Us, a couple of lowlife hoods, greasers, white trash. That, they couldn't accept that. They were gonna kill Ponyboy and then they were gonna kill me. Maybe they would have drowned me, too, or just beaten me to death, or stabbed me or something. They were so drunk, like my old man gets drunk, and when people are so mad and drinking like that there's no stopping them,"

"Your "old man" your father, he drinks? Is he violent, too?"

I looked sideways out the window. This was not good. Maybe it sounded so bad. I didn't know. I didn't want to talk about my stupid folks, either.

"Yeah," I said, not looking at this guy anymore. I'd said enough.


End file.
